


Root and Branch

by subjunctive



Series: Author's Favorites [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Apocalypse, F/M, Infinity Gems, Time Travel, Yggdrasil - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 12:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7844629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subjunctive/pseuds/subjunctive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Jane Foster.” He can’t hide the incredulity. Thor’s woman, come to trouble his last moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Root and Branch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/gifts).



> For a prompt meme on Tumblr. @veliseraptor wanted "Jane/Loki, things you said with no space between us."

The branches of the Great Tree do not cradle him. No, Loki is as hated here as he is everywhere else, and his chair is sharp thorns, scraping bark, broken branches like knives. He makes his seat among such welcoming company regardless, like he always has.

From here, he cannot hear the sounds of the raging battle, and his craven self is shamefully relieved. A coward to the last. Odin would be so proud. But his resentment is a pathetic shadow of what it once was, and that is the most damning realization of all.

No, there is some noise--a breaking twig, leaves crunching underfoot. He has company. He forces his eyes open.

There. A feminine figure, picking her way through the great roots. His hand cups his broken ribs. Those his body could heal in time. The gash in his side is more troubling; his lungs are afire, and it is a race to see whether his blood can replenish itself before it all drains away. His fingers slip in the gory mess.

Sif would have some choice final words for him, and he for her, but it is not Sif. No, it is the face he least expects.

“Jane Foster.” He can’t hide the incredulity. Thor’s woman, come to trouble his last moments.

Her head lifts at the sound of her name, and starlight gleams off a pair of gold horns. He stares. Then he says the only thing that comes to his muddled mind: “You’re wearing my helmet.”

She stumbles, and the glow in her cheeks could be exertion or anger. She tugs the helmet off and tucks it under one arm, and studies him from a safe distance. Beyond her there is only darkness; even the stars have begun to lose their light, one by one consumed by Thanos’s final act of adoration for his lover.

“I found it on the battlefield,” she says by way of greeting, removing a lock of hair from her mouth impatiently. “I figured you didn’t need it anymore if it was just lying there.”

He almost laughs. “I suppose you’re right. It protected you, then?”

“Along with other things,” she says vaguely, though she’s wearing no other armor he can see. A tentative step brings her closer. “Do you want it back?”

His shrug sends a lightning streak of pain down his side. “What good would it do me now? Keep it. Perhaps it will protect you to the end.”

She glances around them. “There’s a pretty good chance that’s already the case. Besides you, I mean.”

“I won’t last long. So you’ve outlived us all. How did you manage it, little mortal?” He struggles to keep his words even, to hide the gasp of pain lurking in every movement.

Her eyes drift down his torso. She must see the wound, and its gravity, for the moment she decides she is safe is evident in her expression. She crouches close and taps the corner of her mouth. “You’ve got some …” Looking embarrassed, she wipes a drop of blood from the crease of his lips. “I saw what you did back there.”

“I’ve done a lot of things. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Jane plants her chin on her fist, unwilling to rise to the bait. There are tear tracks on her cheeks, but though her eyes are rimmed with red, they are dry now, and her voice is steady, even curious. “You tried to save Thor.”

He doesn’t have the energy to deny it, or suppress his sigh.

“I don’t get it,” she continues. “You … you … you practically orchestrated this. No matter how I try and stop it, it always goes down the same way. Why would you …?”

Parts of her question are unintelligible, but he catches the gist of her confusion. He doesn’t have an explanation for that, either.

She shakes her head, features furrowed in a mighty frown. “Every time I change things, it just--doesn’t work.”

Suddenly Loki realizes that the darkness around them is almost total. The stars have all been extinguished. The only light is an orange glow that emanates from somewhere on her person. It casts her features in an eerie light.

“Maybe it’s not things I need to change,” she muses, half to herself. “Maybe … _Loki,_ ” she says sharply, catching his wandering attention with fingers on his cheek. “If you want things to go down differently, tell me how. How would you change? What would make you want to change sides?”

There are many things he could say, even many lies he would like to tell himself, but he is too tired to dissemble. They, too, are almost at an end. She can have her truth, for whatever good it will do her.

“Nothing,” he says simply. “I never would. Not … not until it’s too late.” He coughs, and spits out blood, and considers his recent foolhardiness. He’d tried to save Thor, and Thanos punished him for it--by letting him live to see his handiwork. “Perhaps if Thor died. In the right way.”

“Not an option,” she says immediately, but he’s hardly paying attention. The pain has almost gone. Distantly he recognizes what a bad sign that is, but it’s hard to care, when he’s sliding down into the gentle arms of nothingness.

Her slap cracks across his face, and he gasps. His vision clears. She looks abashed. “Sorry. I could really use your help, you know.”

Loki shakes his head wonderingly. She does not look like a woman who is about to die, who will face the darkness alone when he fades, who knows she will soon be swallowed up by the encroaching nothingness.

“Where are you going?” he whispers.

“ _Back_ ,” she says, and something clicks into place. Orange light. Her brazen assurance. Her strange words.

“You have it.”

She nods, and her hand on his cheek is gentle.

“Will you …” He cannot quite form the words. _Will you stay with me until I’ve gone?_ He can admit, now, that he does not want to face the darkness alone, and hers is not the poorest company he could have at the end. Not when she offers hope.

“Take you with me?” she says, and _oh_ , that is not something he dared hope for, too, but now that the match has been struck he can’t put out the flame. He struggles for one last scheme and gathers his strength. Purpose begets will.

“I was going to say ‘send me off with a kiss,’ but if it pleases you.”

His words hit their mark, and Jane laughs. It is an unexpectedly beautiful sound, here at the end of everything he has ever known. Her thumb strokes his cheek. Like anyone who has all the power, she is generous. She bends to kiss him on the cheek and he turns, just enough, just so that their lips brush together. It is a soft, gentle kiss, not that he has the strength for anything else. A last grasp against the dark. May it spark pity in her breast.

Her intake of breath against his mouth spells her surprise, but she does not break away. Instead, she fits her lips to his more firmly. There is an intimacy that comes from telling the truth, he thinks. She knows him now, like perhaps no one ever has: everything that he is capable of, everything he wants, everything he has failed to do. It is terrifying, and miraculous.

“Brace yourself,” she warns when she pulls away, and he heeds her. She takes one of his hands in hers, interlaces their fingers. The tug of her hand pulls him away.


End file.
